The Future is the Past: A Back to the Future Parody Sequel

By Nicholas Kuvaas

Arty is not a rock star. He's in therapy. Doc has been gone for over 30 years. The 2015 he thought would be has come and gone without the flying cars or hoverboards. He's beginning to wonder how real it all was until Doc returns with a crazy plan to change the past. But, something goes wrong, and it's up to them save history. More questions arise when an old friend appears to ensure that history goes as planned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas Kuvaas
• Release date: Nov 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386611165

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Future That Never Was

Arty McFry looked at the office building in front of him. By all accounts, he was a failure. Those failures were his most impressive feat that people believed, and it was an impressive list. His band broke up when his hand was crushed by an amp. Yeah, he could play, but it wasn’t the same. Then, there was the insurance job where he couldn’t sell insurance followed by the knife sales job where he almost castrated two customers, and the job selling used cars where everyone wanted to drive 88 miles per hour. Oh, there were more too. There were paper sales where he’d given their biggest competitor a 50% discount on paper leading to his firing, and the job where he was mistaken for a medical doctor after his car broke down on his way back to Hollywood, and no one would let him forget his very brief stint as deputy mayor of Vill Halley. But, this gig was simple, and it was his last chance. Administrative duties and little pay awaited him, but Bennifer and the kids needed to eat.

Every day, he wondered where it went wrong. There was no good answer, and hard work had not worked for him. Bad luck followed him at every turn. He kept waiting for something to go his way. Something had to turn. Arty stayed away from drugs and childish races, yet he ended up here. Only one thing could change his fortune, but the time machine wasn’t real. That’s what everyone else said, and he started to believe them. Maybe that was where it started, telling Doodles about his adventures. That was supposed to be in the past now, but the future that was to be never happened. No hoverboards or flying cars, just failure after failure.

A cool breeze washed over Arty as he entered the building. Arty looked around and saw a desk manned by a lady. His hands shook, so he put them in his pockets. He smiled at her as he approached. She held up her hand with her index finger pointed up. Arty waited until she finished.

How can I help you?

I’m starting a new job today. I’m not sure where to go.

Are you with Johnson, Johnson, and Abrams?

Arty smiled. Yeah.

Take the first elevator to the sixth floor, deputy mayor.

She smiled at him. Arty’s smile faded and turned to a half smile.

Thanks.

Comments like that were made worse by the fact that he looked just like Michael J. Fox. The resemblance was more than uncanny. They could be twins, so much so that he wondered if they had been separated at birth. He walked to the elevators and pressed the button. Others showed up and waited by him.

Hey, it’s teen wolf, someone whispered.

Arty felt a finger tap on his shoulder. He turned toward two men.

Sorry guys, I’m not him. I’m just a regular guy.

Oh, it’s the time travel guy. Sorry, buddy.

Arty desperately wanted the elevator doors to open. Opening doors offered an ostensible escape, but both men followed him. He pressed the button for the sixth floor. Their conversation continued with no mention of him. When the 6 appeared on the panel, Arty stepped up to the door and jumped out as the doors opened.

Bye teen wolf, said one of the guys as the doors close.

The receptionist smiled at him. Arty walked up to her, handed her some papers, and pointed to a conference room. Following her instructions, he sat down in one of the comfy black chairs around the oval wood table. He filled out the paperwork, red the manual, and handed it back to the receptionist.

Thank you, report to room...617.

Walking down the hall, the numbers increased. He slowed with each step. A few people stared at him from their office, but he continued until he reached 617. Piles of mail sat there waiting to be delivered. So this was what the job is, he mused, mail boy. He waited for someone to show up and instruct him. Someone did show up, a balding sweat soaked man, who offered painfully simple instructions.

Sort the mail and deliver it to the proper people. A list of people and their office number is taped to the wall.

Doing what he was told, he sorted the mail. Each item loaded into a cart, he headed out to deliver it. One office was empty, so he held onto the mail with plans to swing back later. Others gave him more to send out. The job proved tedious within minutes, and he started to feel embarrassed as a man over 50 delivering mail in an office not even as a mailman. He knew everyone called him failure behind his back, but he needed to start somewhere until he could get his permit back to be a Michael J. Fox impersonator. For now, those days were long gone.

Somehow, the future became lame and so did he. Arty swung back to the mail room for another round. He would make a few rounds each day but would have some down time too. As he dropped off the first batch to someone wearing a fancy suit, the guy looked at him and smiled.

Thanks, Keaton.

Arty forced a laugh, but this had been a tired bit for decades. As the day wore down, he relaxed and thought about calling Bennifer, but he decided against it. He would see her soon enough. The job soon became easy. In time, he could be given more responsibilities. If it remained this easy, he would ask for more to do. The day ended, and he checked out a little early. Arty flipped the reminder card in his hand, forward and back as he rode to the ground floor. There, he caught a glimpse of something. It couldn’t be, but there it was. In the center of the ground floor was a DeLorean. How had he missed it?  

No way, he said.

In the back, he saw the impossible, the light array of the time flux capacitor. The time displays were just as he remembered them. This was unreal. Yes, maybe, it wasn’t real. He stepped back from the DeLorean. Running late, he left knowing that it would be there tomorrow if it were real and not the creation of his mind. As he exited the building, the bus pulled away. Arty chased after it wishing he had his skateboard or better yet the hoverboard. Waving his arms, the bus stopped. His lungs burning, Arty stood in front of the door as it opened. He climbed on and paid. A short ride, he stepped off the bus a few minutes later.

A small white building stood before him. Once a week for two months he came here to see Nick. This was Bennifer’s idea because Arty, in her opinion, was trapped in the past. The results had been underwhelming so far, but he made a commitment to go for three months, even though it pushed their budget to the breaking point. Automatic doors opened for him as the receptionist smiled at him, no need to check in anymore. He found a seat and waited.

Nick emerged and waved him back. His thin lanky frame strolled through the hallway ahead of him. Once Arty sat down, the usual questions were fired at him. How are you doing? How’s the job? How’s the family? Inside the office, there were diplomas everywhere it seemed. Every session Arty squirmed. His hands shook, and Nick seemed cool as a cucumber. Nick sat in a chair opposite him. Arty slouched as he sat. His therapist wore glasses and had balding grey hair. Thin in build, he crossed his legs like a woman. Arty crossed his arms and looked away from him. Nick finished his usual questions and waited for him to talk.

I saw a DeLorean today. Not just any DeLorean. It’s a replica of Doc’s.

Oh?

I’ve been thinking about going back and changing some things. You know, what if it’s not just a replica, but the real deal?

His therapist sighed. Arty, I thought we agreed that kind of thinking wasn’t healthy. We should focus on the present because you can’t change the past. We concluded those events didn’t happen, remember?

But they’re so real.

Or false memories that you want to be real or that were fed to you. Personally, I think you came up with them. You created those thoughts to make your childhood seem better. I was hoping we were past this. You have a lot of trauma to work through. This stuff impedes progress.

The DeLorean was destroyed. That’s why I have no proof. Just because no one believes me doesn’t that it didn’t happen.

I’ve found some records of Bemmett Burntsienna ranging from the late 1800s to the 1980s. His family certainly has a tragic history. Even if he was real, his intentions were not in the right place. Those chloroform tests are dubious and what did he see in a poor student who wanted to be a rock star?

Arty had no retort to this. That never made much sense to him either. Nick continued.

"You had a rough childhood. That’s for sure, Arty. This Tiff character sounds like he abused